O LOVE Divine, of all that is
The sweetest still and best,
Fain would I come and rest to-night
Upon Thy tender breast.

As tired of sin as any child
Was ever tired of play,
When evening's hush has folded in
The noises of the day;

When just for very weariness
The little one will creep
Into the arms that have no joy
Like holding him in sleep;

And looking upward to Thy face,
So gentle, sweet and strong
In all its looks for those who love,
So pitiful of wrong,

I pray Thee turn me not away,

For years I've dreamed the sweetest dream:—
A baby's little form
Is cuddled close against my breast,
Its tiny body warm.
Its little hand clings tight to mine,
Confiding to be led;
Its childish prattle, laugh and fun
Quite fill the years ahead.

I catch my breath and face the fact:
No baby's little-form,
Will ever nestle close to me,
Its tiny body warm;
No little hands will cling to mine,
Confiding to be led,
I look into the future—
The lonely years ahead;

My throat contracts, I feel the ache,

A KITTEN , crying in the cold,
A mongrel pup, astray,
A baby wailing, motherless,
Love hears along the way.

But Love will take the kitten home,
The mongrel gone astray —
The baby lacking pedigree,
For Love will find a way.

Love will not flee self-sacrifice,
Be chances what they may;
But-follows when the good Heart leads,
True Love must win the day.

If you would heal the wounds of man,
Love is the balm to use —
It flows from loving hearts — and is
A balm that none refuse.

Oh ! my Beloved, could you see
What I now see and understand,
You would not grieve despairingly,
And grope in darkness for my hand.

This life is but a little span —
Our love will soar from plane to plane;
When you have wrought the Master's plan,
Then soul to soul we meet again.

Weep not, dear wife, for heart tOheart,
We wove the magic warp of love;
No truer could an arrow dart,
Than will your soul to mine above.

Our love will live through all the years
That reach into eternity,
Oh! my Beloved, dry your tears,

Amids such Heate of Businesse, such State-throng
Disputing Right and Wrong,
And the sowre Iustle of Unclos'd Affayres;
What meane those Glorious Payres?
That Youth? That Virgin? Those All Dresst?
The Whole, and every Face, a Feast?
Great Omen! O ye Powr's,
May this Your Knot be Ours!
Thus while Cold things with Hott did jarre,
And Dry with Moyst made Mutuall Warre,
Love from that Masse did leap;
And what was but an Heap
Rude and Ungatherd, swift as thought, was hurld
Into the Beauty of an Ordred World.

A look that passeth from thine eyes to mine,
A kiss which thine upon my lips have pressed —
May one whom knowledge of such joys hath blessed,
May she, forsooth, for other joys repine?

Estranged from friends, my life apart from thine,
My thoughts still circle in unending quest,
And evermore upon that hour they rest,
That solitary hour: — then fill my eyne.

The tear-drop dries unheeded on my cheek;
He loves, think I; though silent, loves thee still,
And why should distance keep thy love unspoken?
Oh, let this whisper of affection speak;

Jar 1. Your lips are like the red, red rose.
Jar 2. Your silken hair is like the night.
Jar 3. Your breast is whiter than the snows.
Jar 4. You are a phantom of delight.

Jar 5. I am the needle, you the pole.
Jar 6. I am the singer, you the song.
Jar 7. I am the body, you the soul.
Jar 8. Oh, love me little, love me long!

Jar 9. You are too fair for mortal speech.
Jar 10. You are the apple of my eye.
Jar 11. You are a pippin, you're a peach.
Jar 12. And I shall love you till I die.

Alone by a lonely willow
Poor Damon sighing lay.
The grass was his only pillow,
Alack, and well-a-day.

I came with my flask,
And I gave him a drink;
Had it been a whole cask
He'd have drunk it I think.

He danc'd and he sung,
And he caper'd like mad,
And swore he'd have more
If more could be had.

But Celia, with charms surrounded,
Came tripping it o'er the plain;
The shepherd afresh was wounded,
And all undone again.

He call'd her his goddess, she call'd him an ass;

My friends could give me no relief;
No balm could reach my inward grief;
Nothing could ease my tortur'd mind,
Because Lucinda was unkind.

Oft on a flow'ry bank I lay,
And weeping spent the tedious day;
As oft by silver streams I stood,
And with my tears increas'd the flood.

On cypress banks I oft engrav'd
Her name, who had my soul enslav'd,
And oft, to all the echoes round
I would repeat the pleasing sound.

To food and rest a stranger grown,
My body wasted to the bone;
Thought I — this cannot long endure,